Five Minutes Past Yesterday
12:04 and already we're five minutes past yesterday.
Yesterday, when we stayed up late waiting for that minute till' tomorrow just to do so.
To wait I mean.
To linger on moments because no matter how much their dissected they just remain lucid, unclear, formless, but solid...
Clocks act as our dart boards for cofusion
Constant changing hands to illuminate the illusion
That we might matter five minutes into today.
This poem is about:
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: